


Exploits from the Old Well Bar and Distillery

by Pirensnest



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Hands, Large Cock, Monsterfucking, PWP, Praise Kink, Suspended sex, Suspension, ghostfucking, kinkfriendly, many hands, sometimes you just wanna write something nasty and y'all seem to be all for that here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 05:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17995703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pirensnest/pseuds/Pirensnest
Summary: On the very far side of a very strange town, is a bar and distillery that's been there for longer than anyone can remember. Follow Elia, the chief barkeep, as she gets some sweet ink that leads to sexcapades she never imagined.





	Exploits from the Old Well Bar and Distillery

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, it's been a hot minute! 
> 
> This is my very first time writing smut, so please, be gentle (at least to begin with ;) ) - hope you like, if you've any requests let me know, and let me know what you think! Kudos are very much appreciated, thanks for reading! <3

Yes, this is exactly what it looks like. Monsterfuckers of AO3 unite, it's ghost fuckin' time. Read on for some 18+ Casper action, and please be gentle, I haven't written creatively in years.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Fingers caressed her hips with the reverence a caretaker would use for opulent books, awed appreciation and knowing rolled into one stroke.

It had been a steady evening - time slinking by as the hours phased into one another, a night she'd swore she'd lived 100 times before this. She cruised from patron to patron in the Old Well Bar and Distillery, the smokey haze of the room parting in her wake, and trailing behind her as it always did. Little difference to the usual- well, one difference. They'd had a new face in, the evening before - a rugged woman, skin thoroughly mapped in ink, and dangling the promise of nights of opportunity before her.

Elia wasn't foolish - working in a bar with patrons as strange as hers had left her with a knack for dealing with the macabre, the unknown, and everything between and beyond. But something about this woman - the twist in her lips, the roll of her hips, and how she caressed that damned glass while making direct eye contact with her, was absolutely insufferable. And, as much as it irritated her to admit it, very, very attractive.

She knew a good offer when it was dangled before her - so when the woman offered a trade, a tattoo of her own (magical in nature, with a charm to draw Eros to her) in return for an enthusiastic attempt at cunnilingus in the bar's back room, she damn well took it. The old walls of the Old Well had seen far stranger things in their time, after all.

When the sweet stupor of the tattoo gun faded, the woman dipping away at the dawn, her tongue had hurt. Her tongue still really, really fucking hurt - she hadn't expected to be at it for hours, but the stranger's hands gripping her hair, the soft praises of her gasps, and gentle encouragement - "there's my good girl" - had kept her very well motivated. She'd never heard someone in bliss call to long lost deities with quite so much conviction before.

It was almost enough to keep her mind off of the sting of her hip - until bumping into the sharp bar side while stacking dished had very abruptly bought that one crashing back. Elia swore softly, fingertips pressed against the tender flesh. "Fuck."

It had yet to prove it's worth. So far at least, there had been no untold pleasures. No mystery, no new opportunity, just itchy new ink she had to keep moisturised. Slightly irritating, she thought.  
At least something about the elegant sway of the marks interloping across her skin and the memory of her stranger kept the crawling doubt at bay, and a small smile on her face.

Her last patron had left some time ago - daydreams of erotic encounters with the handsome attendees was, after all, quite distracting, and she hadn't noticed the shadowy man slip out.

As tempted as she was to dip her fingers in her own well, she had a job to do - the bar wasn't going to pack itself up, after all. Stools were stacked, counters swiped with a familiar hand, and a hundred styles of glassware (some of which hurt her mind to think about, being fourth dimensional) were rinsed and stacked neatly behind her bar. She scanned the room one last time - a final glass, on a missed back table, one more trek before she could slip the key into the lock, slink home, and have a nap and a wank - that was all she wanted. Bastard. She had little tolerance for kitchenware that delayed her opportunity to get off.

The little bastard was almost to hand - well, little being an understatement, the jug being a broad, large vessel, frosted glass scuffed with age. Closer, closer, almost free to leave - and the damned thing had fallen off the table. No gale force winds, no vague drafts, not even a light breeze she could use to rationalise it. The rational had no place at the Old Well, at any rate.

"Fucking ghosts." She bent over to retrieve her prize - and as she did, a heavy weight pressed against her hips and backside, and ground into her, deep.  
Her startled moan was very quickly interrupted as she snapped back up in outrage.

"Oi, precisely what the fuck do you think you're doing?" The weight lifted off her very quickly at that. She turned, finding a foggy, dense mass, drastically retreating in on itself as she rightly fumed.

"You think just because you're not tangible, you can try your fucking luck? Well listen up buttercup, I've had one hell of a week, my hip fucking hurts from my goddamn ink, my tongue fucking hurts from yelling at you, and I don't get paid enough to deal with your fucking bullshit! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

She'd never seen something so intangible look quite so sheepish.  
A small projection appeared before it - she recognised herself from before, hand over the hip her ink was on, rubbing it softly and swearing. She hadn't noticed it at the time - the second she swore, there was a faint glow through her skirt - her tattoo, illuminating for a brief moment. Oh, she thought. Oh. So that's how this works.

"I commanded the tattoo to fuck, didn't I?" A small, ghostly nod answered.  
"And that's how you showed up?" - another nod.  
"... You're not here because you don't want to be, right? I'm not into that." A furious shake answered that one.  
"Good. And ...you want to fuck me?" The cloudy mass nodded, bobbing in the air in it's enthusiasm.  
"Hm. Ok. Sounds about right for these parts - and sorry, for yelling earlier. Can I touch you?"

A limb stretched out, as the creature began to elongate and take form. The texture was strange - thick, almost soupy, as she reached out to touch the apparition's hand. Gaining confidence quickly, she ran her hand up - what she hoped was a chest? His chest, she realised, the form slowly becoming more visible as her own breathing deepened.

He was tall, and well-built - strong shoulders leading to a soft stomach, leading to - oh. Oh, he was an impressive specter.  
"Ok. Ok, I'm down for this. Why the fuck not, right? I ain't afraid of no ghost" The being smirked in agreement, nodding once more before vanishing from her sight.

She felt a cold breath behind her, and a hand trace her hip - the other matching it shortly after on the other side, the grip becoming more confident. One stayed to anchor her - it's twin sliding up, caressing the side of her breast before nesting in her hair and gently pulling her head to the side. Soft, chilled air puffed across her neck, as she felt a third hand begin to gently work her nipple. She briefly contemplated that the spectral were not constrained by their prior human bodies after all, before a fourth hand cut that train of thought off completely and delved between her legs, gently tugging her underwear to the side - caressing her clit and drawing a moan from her.

She was glad they understood she didn't need pre-amble tonight - already slick enough from her pondering earlier, they rubbed against her slit, trailing her wetness up to rub harder at her core. At this point, as turned on as she was, she barely noticed as she began to levitate, many gentle yet eager hands lifting and determined to satisfy her.

"Oh, ffffu-" A hand across her mouth cut off her accidental command, as another began to grip her throat - she wouldn't complain that they knew what she liked.

"Not yet, sweetheart. We're not half ready for that yet." The hands continued their ministrations, sliding, gripping, rubbing and pulling until she was panting in their grasp, slick dripping from her core down her leg. She was close, she knew it - if they'd just continue like they were, she could get there so soon, it would be so sweet, and -

And they stopped. And they fucking stopped. She let out a sob, her cunt clenching around absolutely nothing - and what a crying shame that was, she thought.

"Christ, fuck, please, please! Fuck!"

A low chuckle filled the air, as a thick member began to press against her.  
"If you insist. But only because you asked so nicely."

The hands were back - gentle movements, as her core stretched with his girth. Fuck, she'd taken bigger before, but something about this was so satisfying - she wasn't sure if it was the chill, the presence of the hands, or the suspension, but she decided she was loving every second of it - and every inch he filled her with.

Bottoming out, he paused - the hands picked up their pace again, leaving her writhing and clenching around the cock in no time. Still, he refused to move.  
"For the love - for the love of Cthulu-u, would you pl- please just move?"  
That was answered with force - her body rose, slamming back down onto the invisible cock in midair. The hands continued. He stopped.

"More, like that, yes please, NOW PLEASE."

Another low laugh, and he obliged her - the cock fucking and filling her deep within, as her gasps and moans filled the empty bar. The friction he gave her felt mind-blowing - if this was what lied beyond the veil, Elia would take the 10 Trip Fast Pass, thank you very much.

The hand on her clit very quickly silenced that line of thought, as it began to rub fast - quick circles drawing a loud chorus from her body, and with the deep, pounding base filling her cunt, the dozen hands gripping her hips, thighs, neck, and fisted in her hair a symphony of pleasure. She crescendo-ed - coming hard around the thick length, the hands not letting up for a moment - before promptly blacking out.

+++++

She came to, some unknowable time later. The glass was on the table, the key was next to her, and now everything ached in the best possible way. She took her time getting up - gently staggering to her feet and sliding her underwear back to cover herself (ruined, but at least the rest of her clothing, though disheveled, had survived the fuckening).

Feet weary and clutching her inked hip, but with a proud, post-fuck grin, she paused, key in the door - turning back to the darkened bar.

"Thanks for the boo-ty call, Casper."  
The door thunked shut behind her, and she heard the ensuing groan and chuckle as she started down the path back home, completely satisfied.


End file.
